


Say That Again

by twokisses



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Banter, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mild Smut, No pun intended, Non-Graphic Smut, Teasing, my journey into the netherworld has begun, these tags though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-12 16:08:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21479134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twokisses/pseuds/twokisses
Summary: In which Simon unwittingly reads a sexy part of the French novel Baz has lying around, and Baz has to figure out how to diffuse (or encourage) the situation.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 25
Kudos: 329





	Say That Again

**Author's Note:**

> hello, everyone! this was written for a request i received on anon over on tumblr. i'm @sbazzing there as well, so come on over for more of my snowbaz content! (note: i don't speak french myself, so if there are any mistakes in here that i need to fix, do let me know!)
> 
> hope you enjoy! :]

There’s a book on Baz’s bedside table. Which is not uncommon in and of itself - Simon has seen countless different books in that same spot as Baz has torn through them - it’s just that he’s never seen Baz read a book in French before. This one has a title Simon can only half-translate. (His own French has gone to shit since leaving Watford.) He lazily reaches out an arm from where he’s sprawled on the bed to pick it up.

“What does this say?” He flips the book over, so Baz can see the cover. Baz has been lying with his chin on his arm, on Simon’s stomach - tracing shapes into Simon’s skin with a finger. (They’re both still a little sweaty from earlier, but Baz doesn’t seem to mind being pressed up so closely together. He never does.) His brows lift with his eyes as he strains to see the cover without moving his head.

_“The Wanderers’ Compass,”_ he says.

Simon hums. “Sounds pretentious.”

That earns him a pinch in the side. He laughs, then opens the book above his face, careful not to let Baz’s bookmark fall out of its place as he flips through the pages.

“It’s a good book so far,” Baz says, sounding a tad defensive. He’s resumed his drawing, index finger moving in a zig zag down Simon’s abdomen before circling around his belly button. Simon squirms. Baz does it again. “It’s about family. And love.”

_“Je t'aime,”_ Simon reads, at just the right moment. He feels Baz’s finger pause in its trajectory, and a smile curve against his skin. Simon smiles too. “That’s about all I understand on this page.”

“Your French has become deplorable.”

“Wasn’t much to say for it in the first place,” Simon dismisses. “The Minotaur hated me.”

“Well, he always came across as slightly angry. Maybe it was just a side effect of the bull face.”

Simon knees Baz (not that hard), and Baz laughs.

“What does this mean?” Simon asks, squinting at a sentence.

“Hmm?”

He says the words slowly, careful with his pronunciation. _“J'adore te faire l'amour.”_ He frowns and mouths the words again to himself. “Yeah. What’s that?”

Baz’s hand has stopped again. There’s a pause. Then he clears his throat.

“Ah…” he says.

Simon rolls his eyes. “What? Did I butcher that?”

“No, Snow. Your pronunciation was perfect.”

There’s a strange quality to Baz’s tone that makes Simon put the book down. To his immense surprise, Baz is blushing. It’s slight, but it’s there. And he’s avoiding eye contact.

_“What?”_ Simon presses. He’s purely curious now. “What does it mean?”

“It’s not very…” Baz flounders, trails off, sighs. But there’s a tiny smile tugging at his mouth. “You seem to have found all the romantic parts of the book.”

Simon doesn’t grace that with a response, because Baz is still avoiding translating (though Simon has a good guess about what’s going on by now). He raises both eyebrows in a question and simply waits.

Finally, when Baz meets his eyes and realises he’s not escaping, he sighs. “_J'adore te faire l'amour…_ It means _I love making love to you_.”

Oh.

It’s Simon’s turn to flush, very slowly. He feels the heat creeping up his neck and ears. It doesn’t really make sense that it would affect either of them this way - they were doing exactly what was said just twenty minutes ago. But it’s different, spoken aloud like that. They don’t normally _talk_ about it…

And Simon was definitely not prepared to hear _that_, in particular. From Baz’s mouth. In Baz’s voice. Simon loves his voice - low and smooth. The words in French, already so pretty, became something even richer and more exotic when Baz said it.

Simon feels a shiver travel across his skin.

“Say that again,” he says.

There’s a brief pause. And for all of one second, Baz looks confused. Then that eyebrow of his draws slowly upwards, and his lips part slightly. His eyes flick down to Simon’s mouth and then back up. “Which version, Snow?” he asks.

Simon thinks about that. “French.”

Baz’s tongue moves up to trace one of his canines, the place where his fangs slide out when he feeds. It’s an absent move Simon recognises - Baz does it when he’s thinking, and when he’s hungry. In one way or another.

_“J'adore te faire l'amour.”_ He repeats the words. Slower this time. Probably just to test how warm the waters are, but the new emphasis makes the whole thing seem even more intimate. Simon bites his lip, and sees Baz’s gaze catch on the motion.

_“Simon,”_ he says.

“Keep going.”

“I haven’t memorised the book, Snow.”

“It doesn’t have to be the book.” Simon tosses said novel into the sheets somewhere, and it’s a testament to how focused Baz is on Simon at the moment that he doesn’t even scold him for it. Simon says, “You can improvise.”

Baz blows out a slow, controlled breath. Thinking again. Then his hand moves, and Simon nearly jumps. He forgot about where it was resting on his waist, where it froze, earlier. His skin tingles intensely as Baz moves it up his side.

_“J'adore ton corps,”_ Baz murmurs. His eyes echo the movement of his hand, trailing up Simon’s bare stomach and chest. Simon wants to fidget, but forces himself still.

“What’s that?” he asks, maybe a little too breathily. “You love… what?”

“Your body.” Baz’s eyes glint when they meet Simon’s. “_Tu as un corps si magnifique…_ You have a beautiful one.”

Simon is definitely red now.

“Thanks,” he says. Stupid.

Baz laughs. Then he moves back, and leans down - pressing his lips to Simon’s stomach. Simon’s muscles twitch reflexively under his lips. Baz kisses up his body, right along the centre. His hands hold Simon still by the waist. At intervals, he speaks, whispering the words right into Simon’s skin - like he’s hiding the confessions there.

A kiss above the sternum. _“Tu me rends fou.”_ _You drive me crazy._

A brush of lips over Simon’s chest, which makes Simon shiver. _“Tu aimes ça?”_ _You like that?_

A gentle nip to Simon’s collarbone. _“J'ai envie de toi.”_ _I want you._

By the time Baz starts licking a painfully slow line up Simon’s neck, Simon is half-mad with need. Baz’s mouth reaches Simon’s earlobe, and he gets it between his teeth. Simon can’t help it. He arches up into him, and Baz pushes down at the same time. It’s exquisite.

_“Baz,”_ Simon groans. There are going to be marks in Baz’s back from his fingers.

“Simon,” Baz replies. He’s teasing, but his voice is rough.

“Kiss me.”

Baz hums. “That’s _embrasse-moi_, in French.” Oh, he’s enjoying himself too much, now.

Simon growls. “_Tais-toi_ et embrasse-moi.” (It figures that Simon would know how to say _shut up_ in French, but not much else. He’s fairly sure he learned it to use on Baz in the first place.) (Though definitely not in this context.)

Baz laughs at that, a full-bodied laugh straight into Simon’s hair, and echoes Simon’s own sentiment. “Of course you’d know _that_.” He relents, though. Simon makes an embarrassing noise of relief into Baz’s mouth, and pulls him closer with his hands in his hair.

It's hot, heady, electrifying. It makes Simon dizzy. But still, frustratingly, too soon, Baz is tugging back, with a nip to Simon’s lower lip. Simon wants to protest, but Baz says something first. It isn’t in English. Simon groans.

“And what’s _that_?” he nearly snaps. 

Baz's grin is unbearably cheeky. His stunning grey eyes are almost black now, but Simon still sees the amusement shining in them, plain as day.

“Well," he says. "Maybe I should just show you.”


End file.
